CHAPTER XXXVII
THE RACE TO SAVE HELLAS
The chase had cost the Athenians dear. Before the _Bozra_ had submitted toher fate, she had led the _Nausicaae_ and her consort well down into thesouthern AEgean. A little more and they would have lifted the shaggyheadlands of Crete. The route before the great trireme was a long one. Twothousand stadia,(13) as the crow flies, sundered them from the Euripus,the nearest point whence they could despatch a runner to Pausanias andAristeides; and what with the twistings around the scattered Cyclades theroute was one-fourth longer. But men had ceased reckoning distance. Theirhearts were in the flying oars, and at first the _Nausicaae_ ran leapingacross the waves as leaps the dolphin,--the long gleaming blades springinglike shuttles in the hands of the ready crew. They had taken from thepenteconter all her spare rowers, and to make the great ship bound overthe steel-gray deep was children's play. "We must save Hellas, and wecan!" That was the thought of all from Themistocles to the meanestthranite.
So at the beginning when the task seemed light and hands were strong. Thebreeze that had betrayed the _Bozra_ ever sank lower. Presently it diedaltogether. The sails they set hung limp on the mast. The navarch had themfurled. The sea spread out before them, a glassy, leaden-coloured floor;the waves roaring in their wake faded in a wide ripple far behind. Tohearten his men the _keleustes_ ceased his beating on the sounding-board,and clapped lips to his pipe. The whole trireme chorussed the familiarsong together:--
"Fast and more fast O'er the foam-spray we're passed. And our creaking sails swell To the swift-breathing blast, For Poseidon's wild steeds With their manifold feet, Like a hundred white nymphs On the blue sea-floor fleet. And we wake as we go Gray old Phorcys below, Whilst on shell-clustered trumpets The loud Tritons blow! The loud Tritons blow!
"All of AEolus's train Springing o'er the blue main To our paeans reply With their long, long refrain; And the sea-folk upleap From their dark weedy caves; With a clear, briny laugh They dance over the waves; Now their mistress below,-- See bright Thetis go, As she leads the mad revels, While loud Tritons blow! While loud Tritons blow!
"With the foam gliding white, Where the light flash is bright. We feel the live keel Leaping on with delight; And in melody wild Men and Nereids and wind Sing and laugh all their praise, To the bluff seagods kind; Whilst deep down below, Where no storm blasts may go, On their care-charming trumpets The loud Tritons blow, The loud Tritons blow."
Bravely thus for a while, but at last Themistocles, watching from the poopwith eyes that nothing evaded, saw how here and there the dip of theblades was weakening, here and there a breast was heaving rapidly, a mouthwas panting for air.
"The relief," he ordered. And the spare rowers ran gladly to the places ofthose who seemed the weariest. Only a partial respite. Fiftysupernumeraries were a poor stop-gap for the one hundred and seventy. Onlythe weakest could be relieved, and even those wept and pled to continue atthe benches a little longer. The thunderous threat of Ameinias, that hewho refused a proffered relief must stand all day by the mast with an ironanchor on his shoulder, alone sufficed to make the malcontents give place.Yet after a little while the singing died. Breath was too precious towaste. It was mockery to troll of "AEolus's winds" whilst the sea was onemotionless mirror of gray. The monotonous "beat," "beat" of the_keleustes's_ hammer, and the creaking of the oars in their leatheredholes alone broke the stillness that reigned through the length of thetrireme. The penteconter and her prize had long since faded below thehorizon. With almost wistful eyes men watched the islets as they glidedpast one after another, Thera now, then Ios, and presently the greaterParos and Naxos lay before them. They relieved oars whenever possible. Thesupernumeraries needed no urging after their scanty rest to spring to theplace of him who was fainting, but hardly any man spoke a word.
The first time the relief went in Glaucon had stepped forward.
"I am strong. I am able to pull an oar," he had cried almost angrily whenThemistocles laid his hand upon him, but the admiral would have none ofit.
"You shall not. Sooner will I go on to the bench myself. You have beenthrough the gates of Tartarus these last days, and need all your strength.Are you not the Isthmionices,--the swiftest runner in Hellas?"
Then Glaucon had stepped back and said no more. He knew now for whatThemistocles reserved him,--that after the _Nausicaae_ made land he mustrun, as never man ran before across wide Boeotia to bear the tidings toPausanias.
They were betwixt Paros and Naxos at last. Wine and barley cakes soaked inoil were passed among the men at the oars. They ate without leaving thebenches. And still the sea spread out glassy, motionless, and the pennonhung limp on the mainmast. The _keleustes_ slowed his beatings, but themen did not obey him. No whipped cattle were they, such as rowed thetriremes of Phoenicia, but freemen born, sons of Athens, who called it joyto die for her in time of need. Therefore despite the _keleustes's_ beats,despite Themistocles's command, the rowing might not slacken. And theblack wave around the _Nausicaae's_ bow sang its monotonous music.
But Themistocles ever turned his face eastward, until men thought he wasawaiting some foe in chase, and presently--just as a rower among thezygites fell back with the blood gushing from mouth and nostrils--theadmiral pointed his finger toward the sky-line of the morning.
"Look! Athena is with us!"
And for the first time in hours those panting, straining men let the hotoar butts slip from their hands, even trail in the darkling water, whilstthey rose, looked, and blessed their gods.
It was coming, the strong kind Eurus out of the south and east. They couldsee the black ripple springing over the glassy sea; they could hear thesinging of the cordage; they could catch the sweet sniff of the brine.Admiral and rower lifted their hands together at this manifest favour ofheaven.
"Poseidon is with us! Athena is with us! AEolus is with us! We can saveHellas!"
Soon the sun burst forth above the mist. All the wide ocean floor wasadance with sparkling wavelets. No need of Ameinias's lusty call to bendagain the sails. The smaller canvas on the foremast and great spread onthe mainmast were bellying to the piping gale. A fair wind, but no storm.The oars were but helpers now,--men laughed, hugged one another as boys,wept as girls, and let the benignant wind gods labour for them. Delos theHoly they passed, and Tenos, and soon the heights of Andros lifted, as theship with its lading of fate flew over the island-strewn sea. At last,just as the day was leaving them, they saw Helios going down into thefire-tinged waves in a parting burst of glory. Darkness next, but thekindly wind failed not. Through the night no man on that triremeslumbered. Breeze or calm, he who had an obol's weight of power spent itat the oars.
Long after midnight Themistocles and Glaucon clambered the giddy cordageto the ship's top above the swelling mainsail. On the narrow platform,with the stars above, the dim tracery of the wide sail, the still dimmertracery of the long ship below, they seemed transported to another world.Far beneath by the glimmer of the lanterns they saw the rowers swaying attheir toil. In the wake the phosphorous bubbles ran away, opalescentgleams springing upward, as if torches of Doris and her dancing Nereids.So much had admiral and outlaw lived through this day they had thoughtlittle of themselves. Now calmer thought returned. Glaucon could tell ofmany things he had heard and thought, of the conversation overheard themorning before Salamis, of what Phormio had related during the wearycaptivity in the hold of the _Bozra_. Themistocles pondered long. Yet forGlaucon when standing even on that calm pinnacle the trireme must creepover the deep too slowly.
"O give me wings, Father Zeus," was his prayer; "yes, the wings of Icarus.Let me fly but once to confound the traitor and deliver thy Hellas,--afterthat, like Icarus let me fall. I am content to die."
But Themistocles pressed close against his side. "Ask for no wings,"--inthe admiral's voice was a tremor not there when he sped confidence throughthe crew,--"if it be destined we save Hellas, it is
destined; if we are todie, we die. 'No man of woman born, coward or brave, can shun the fateassigned.' Hector said that to Andromache, and the Trojan was right. Butwe shall save Hellas. Zeus and Athena are great gods. They did not give usglory at Salamis to make that glory tenfold vain. We shall save Hellas.Yet I have fear--"
"Of what, then?"
"Fear that Themistocles will be too merciful to be just. Ah! pity me."
"I understand--Democrates."
"I pray he may escape to the Persians, or that Ares may slay him in fairbattle. If not--"
"What will you do?"
The admiral's hold upon the younger Athenian's arm tightened.
"I will prove that Aristeides is not the only man in Hellas who deservesthe name of 'Just.' When I was young, my tutor would predict great thingsof me. 'You will be nothing small, Themistocles, but great, whether forgood or ill, I know not,--but great you will be.' And I have alwaysstruggled upward. I have always prospered. I am the first man in Hellas. Ihave set my will against all the power of Persia. Zeus willing, I shallconquer. But the Olympians demand their price. For saving Hellas I mustpay--Democrates. I loved him."
The two men stood in silence long, whilst below the oars and the rushingwater played their music. At last the admiral relaxed his hand on Glaucon.
"_Eu!_ They will call me 'Saviour of Hellas' if all goes well. I shall begreater than Solon, or Lycurgus, or Periander, and in return I must dojustice to a friend. Fair recompense!"
The laugh of the son of Neocles was harsher than a cry. The other answerednothing. Themistocles set his foot on the ladder.
"I must return to the men. I would go to an oar, only they will not letme."
The admiral left Glaucon for a moment alone. All around him was thenight,--the stars, the black aether, the blacker sea,--but he was not lonely.He felt as when in the foot-race he turned for the last burst toward thegoal. One more struggle, one supreme summons of strength and will, andafter that the triumph and the rest.--Hellas, Athens, Hermione, he wasspeeding back to all. Once again all the things past floated out of thedream-world and before him,--the wreck, the lotus-eating at Sardis,Thermopylae, Salamis, the agony on the _Bozra_. Now came the end, the endpromised in the moment of vision whilst he pulled the boat at Salamis.What was it? He tried not to ask. Enough it was to be the end. He, likeThemistocles, had supreme confidence that the treason would be thwarted.The gods were cruel, but not so cruel that after so many deliverances theywould crush him at the last. "The miracles of Zeus are never wrought invain." Had not Zeus wrought miracles for him once and twice? The proverbwas great comfort.
Suddenly whilst he built his palace of phantasy, a cry from the foreshipdissolved it.
"Attica, Attica, hail, all hail!"
He saw upon the sky-line the dim tracery of the Athenian headlands "like ashield laid on the misty deep." Again men were springing from the oars,laughing, weeping, embracing, whilst under the clear, unflagging wind the_Nausicaae_ sped up the narrowing strait betwixt Euboea and the mainland.Dawn glowed at last, unveiling the brown Attic shoreline with Pentelicusthe marble-fretted and all his darker peers.
Hour by hour they ran onward. They skirted the long low coast of Euboea tothe starboard. They saw Marathon and its plain of fair memories stretchingto port, and now the strait grew closer yet, and it needed all thegovernor's skill at the steering-oars to keep the _Nausicaae_ from thethreatening rocks. Marathon was behind at last. The trireme rounded thelast promontory; the bay grew wider; the prow was set more to westward.Every man--the faintest--struggled back to his oar if he had left it--thiswas the last hundred stadia to Oropus, and after that the _Nausicaae_ mightdo no more. Once again the _keleustes_ piped, and his note was swift andfeverish. The blades shot faster, faster, as the trireme raced down thesandy shore of the Attic "Diacria." Once in the strait they saw abrown-sailed fisherboat, and the helm swerved enough to bring her withinhail. The fishermen stared at the flying trireme and her straining,wide-eyed men.
"Has there been a battle?" cried Ameinias.
"Not yet. We are from Styra on Euboea; we expect the news daily. The armiesare almost together."
"And where are they?"
"Near to Plataea."
That was all. The war-ship left the fishermen rocking in her wake, butagain Themistocles drew his eyebrows close together, while Glaucontightened the buckle on his belt. Plataea,--the name meant that the couriermust traverse the breadth of Boeotia, and with the armies face to face howlong would Zeus hold back the battle? How long indeed, with Democrates andLycon intent on bringing battle to pass? The ship was more than eversilent as she rushed on the last stretch of her course. More men fell atthe oars with blood upon their faces. The supernumeraries tossed themaside like logs of wood, and leaped upon their benches. Themistocles hadvanished with Simonides in the cabin; all knew their work,--preparingletters to Aristeides and Pausanias to warn of the bitter truth. Then thehaven at last: the white-stuccoed houses of Oropus clustering down uponthe shore, the little mole, a few doltish peasants by the landing gapingat the great trireme. No others greeted them, for the terror ofMardonius's Tartar raiders had driven all but the poorest to some safeshelter. The oars slipped from numb fingers; the anchor plunged into thegreen water; the mainsail rattled down the mast. Men sat on the benchesmotionless, gulping down the clear air. They had done their part. The restlay in the hands of the gods, and in the speed of him who two days sincethey had called "Glaucon the Traitor." The messenger came from the cabin,half stripped, on his head a felt skullcap, on his feet high hunter'sboots laced up to the knees. He had never shone in more noble beauty. Thecrew watched Themistocles place a papyrus roll in Glaucon's belt, andpress his mouth to the messenger's ear in parting admonition. Glaucon gavehis right hand to Themistocles, his left to Simonides. Fifty men wereready to man the pinnace to take him ashore. On the beach the _Nausicaae's_people saw him stand an instant, as he turned his face upward to the"dawn-facing" gods of Hellas, praying for strength and swiftness.
"Apollo speed you!" called two hundred after him. He answered from thebeach with a wave of his beautiful arms. A moment later he was hid behinda clump of olives. The _Nausicaae's_ people knew the ordeal before him, butmany a man said Glaucon had the easier task. He could run till life failedhim. They now could only fold their hands and wait.
* * * * * * *
It was long past noon when Glaucon left the desolate village of Oropusbehind him. The day was hot, but after the manner of Greece not sultry,and the brisk breeze was stirring on the hill slopes. Over the distantmountains hung a tint of deep violet. It was early in Boedromion.(14) Thefields--where indeed the Barbarian cavalry men had not deliberately burnedthem--were seared brown by the long dry summer. Here and there great blackcrows were picking, and a red fox would whisk out of a thicket and go withlong bounds across the unharvested fields to some safer refuge. Glauconknew his route. Three hundred and sixty stadia lay before him, and thosenot over the well-beaten course in the gymnasium, but by rocky goat trailsand by-paths that made his task no easier. He started off slowly. He wastoo good an athlete to waste his speed by one fierce burst at the outset.At first his road was no bad one, for he skirted the willow-hung Asopus,the boundary stream betwixt Attica and Boeotia. But he feared to keep toolong upon this highway to Tanagra, and of the dangers of the road he soonmet grim warnings.
First, it was a farmstead in black ruin, with the carcass of a horse halfburned lying before the gate. Next, it was the body of a woman, three daysslain, and in the centre of the road,--no pleasant sight, for the crows hadbeen at their banquet,--and hardened though the Alcmaeonid was to war, hestopped long enough to cast the ceremonial handful of dust on the poorremains, as symbolic burial, and sped a wish to King Pluto to give peaceto the wanderer's spirit. Next, people met him: an old man, his wife, hisyoung son,--wretched shepherd-folk dressed in sheepskins,--the boy helpinghis elders as they tottered along on their staves toward the mountain. Atsight of Glaucon they feebly made to fly, but he held
out his hand,showing he was unarmed, and they halted also.
"Whence and whither, good father?"
Whereat the old man began to shake all over and tell a mumbling story, howthey had been set upon by the Scythian troopers in their little farm nearOEnophytae, how he had seen the farmhouse burn, his two daughters swungshrieking upon the steeds of the wild Barbarians, and as for himself andhis wife and son, Athena knew what saved them! They had lost all but life,and fearful for that were seeking a cave on Mt. Parnes. Would not theyoung man come with them, a thousand dangers lurked upon the way? ButGlaucon did not wait to hear the story out. On he sped up the rocky road.
"Ah, Mardonius! ah, Artazostra!" he was speaking in his heart, "noble andbrave you are to your peers, but this is your rare handiwork,--and thoughyou once called me friend, Zeus and Dike still rule, there is a price forthis and you shall tell it out."
Yet he bethought himself of the old man's warning, and left the beatenway. At the long steady trot learned in the stadium, he went onward underthe greenwood behind the gleaming river, where the vines and brancheswhipped on his face; and now and again he crossed a half-dried brook,where he swept up a little water in his hands, and said a quick prayer tothe friendly nymphs of the stream. Once or twice he sped through figorchards, and snatched at the ripe fruit as he ran, eating withoutslackening his course. Presently the river began to bend away to westward.He knew if he followed it, he came soon to Tanagra, but whether that townwere held by the Persians or burned by them, who could tell? He quittedthe Asopus and its friendly foliage. The bare wide plain of Boeotia wasopening. Concealment was impossible, unless indeed he turned far eastwardtoward Attica and took refuge on the foothills of the mountains. But speedwas more precious than safety. He passed Scolus, and found the villagedesolate, burned. No human being greeted him, only one or two starvingdogs rushed forth to snap, bristle, and be chased away by a well-sentstone. Here and yonder in the fields were still the clusters of crowspicking at carrion,--more tokens that Mardonius's Tartar raiders had donetheir work too well. Then at last, an hour or more before the sunset, justas the spurs of Cithaeron, the long mountain over against Attica, began tothrust their bald summits up before the runner's ken, far ahead upon theway approached a cloud of dust. The Athenian paused in his run, dashedinto the barren field, and flung himself flat between the furrows. Heheard the hoof-beats of the wiry steppe horses, the clatter of targets andscabbards, the shrill shouts of the raiders. He lifted his head enough tosee the red streamers on their lance tips flutter past. He let the noisedie away before he dared to take the road once more. The time he lost wasredeemed by a burst of speed. His head was growing very hot, but it wasnot time to think of that.
Already the hills were spreading their shadows, and Plataea was many stadiaaway. Knowledge of how much remained made him reckless. He ran on withouthis former caution. The plain was again changing to undulating foothills.He had passed Erythrae now,--another village burned and deserted. He mounteda slope, was descending to mount another, when lo! over the hill beforecame eight riders at full speed. What must be done, must be done quickly.To plunge into the fallow field again were madness, the horsemen hadsurely seen him, and their sure-footed beasts could run over the furrowslike rabbits. Glaucon stood stock still and stretched forth both hands, toshow the horsemen he did not resist them.
"O Athena Polias," uprose the prayer from his heart, "if thou lovest notme, forget not thy love for Hellas, for Athens, for Hermione my wife."
The riders were on him instantly, their crooked swords flew out. Theysurrounded their captive, uttering outlandish cries and chatterings,ogling, muttering, pointing with their swords and lances as if debatingamong themselves whether to let the stranger go or hew him in pieces.Glaucon stood motionless, looking from one to another and asking forwisdom in his soul. Seven were Tartars, low-browed, yellow-skinned, flatof nose, with the grins of apes. He might expect the worst from these. Butthe eighth showed a long blond beard under his leather helm, and Glauconrejoiced; the chief of the band was a Persian and more amenable.
The Tartars continued gesturing and debating, flourishing their steelpoints right at the prisoner's breast. He regarded them calmly, so calmlythat the Persian gave vent to his admiration.
"Down with your lance-head, Rukhs. By Mithra, I think this Hellene isbrave as he is beautiful! See how he stands. We must have him to thePrince."
"Excellency," spoke Glaucon, in his best court Persian, "I am a courier tothe Lord Mardonius. If you are faithful servants of his Eternity the king,where is your camp?"
The chief started.
"On the life of my father, you speak Persian as if you dwelled in Eran atthe king's own doors! What do you here alone upon this road in Hellas?"
Glaucon put out his hand before answering, caught the tip of Rukhs'slance, and snapped it short like a reed. He knew the way to win theadmiration of the Barbarians. They yelled with delight, all at least saveRukhs.
"Strong as he is brave and handsome," cried the Persian. "Again--who areyou?"
The Alcmaeonid drew himself to full height and gave his head its lordliestpoise.
"Understand, Persian, that I have indeed lived long at the king's gates.Yes,--I have learned my Aryan at the Lord Mardonius's own table, for I amthe son of Attaginus of Thebes, who is not the least of the friends of hisEternity in Hellas."
The mention of one of the foremost Medizers of Greece made the subalternbend in his saddle. His tone became even obsequious.
"Ah, I understand. Your Excellency is a courier. You have despatches fromthe king?"
"Despatches of moment just landed from Asia. Now tell me where the army isencamped."
"By the Asopus, much to northward. The Hellenes lie to south. Here, Rukhs,take the noble courier behind you on the horse, and conduct him to thegeneral."
"Heaven bless your generosity," cried the runner, with almost precipitatehaste, "but I know the country well, and the worthy Rukhs will not thankme if I deprive him of his share in your booty."
"Ah, yes, we have heard of a farm across the hills at Eleutherae that's notyet been plundered,--handsome wenches, and we'll make the father dig up hispot of money. Mazda speed you, sir, for we are off."
"Yeh! yeh!" yelled the seven Tartars, none more loudly than Rukhs, who hadno hankering for conducting a courier back into the camp. So the riderscame and went, whilst Glaucon drew his girdle one notch tighter and ranonward through the gathering evening.
The adventure had been a warning. Once Athena had saved him, not perchancetwice,--again he took to the fields. He did not love the sight of the sunever lower, on the long brown ridge of Helicon far to west. Until now hescarce thought enough of self to realize the terrible draughts he had madeupon his treasure-house of strength. Could it be that he--the Isthmionices,who had crushed down the giant of Sparta before the cheering myriads--couldfaint like a weary girl, when the weal of Hellas was his to win or lose?Why did his tongue burn in his throat as a coal? Why did those feet--soswift, so ready when he sped from Oropus--lift so heavily?
As a flash it came over him what he had endured,--the slow agony on the_Bozra_, the bursting of the bands, the fight for life, the scene withThemistocles, the sleepless night on the trireme. Now he was running asthe wild hare runs before the baying chase. Could it be that all this racewas vain?
"For Hellas! For Hermione!"
Whilst he groaned through his gritted teeth, some malignant god made himmisstep, stumble. He fell between the hard furrows, bruising his face andhands. After a moment he rose, but rose to sink back again with keen painshooting through an ankle. He had turned it. For an instant he satmotionless, taking breath, then his teeth came together harder.
"Themistocles trusts me. I carry the fate of Hellas. I can die, but Icannot fail."
It was quite dusk now. The brief southern twilight was ending in pale barsof gold above Helicon. Glaucon rose again; the cold sweat sprang out uponhis forehead. Before his eyes rose darkness, but he did not faint. Somekind destiny set a stout pole upright
in the field,--perhaps for vines toclamber,--he clutched it, and stood until his sight cleared and the pain alittle abated. He tore the pole from the ground, and reached the roadway.He must take his chance of meeting more raiders. He had one vastcomfort,--if there had been no battle fought that day, there would be nonebefore dawn. But he had still weary stadia before him, and running was outof the question. Ever and anon he would stop his hobbling, take air, andstare at the vague tracery of the hills,--Cithaeron to southward, Helicon towest, and northward the wide dark Theban plain. He gave up counting howmany times he halted, how many times he spoke the magic words, "ForHellas! For Hermione!" and forced onward his way. The moon failed, eventhe stars were clouded. A kind of brute instinct guided him. At last--heguessed it was nearly midnight--he caught once more the flashings of ashallow river and the dim outlines of shrubbery beside the bank--again theAsopus. He must take care or he would wander straight into Mardonius'scamp. Therefore he stopped awhile, drank the cool water, and let thestream purl around his burning foot. Then he set his face to the south,for there lay Plataea. There he would find the Hellenes.
He was almost unconscious of everything save the fierce pain and the needto go forward even to the end. At moments he thought he saw the mountainsspringing out of their gloom,--Helicon and Cithaeron beckoning him on, aswith living fingers.
"Not too late. Marathon was not vain, nor Thermopylae, nor Salamis. You cansave Hellas."
Who spoke that? He stared into the solitary night. Was he not alone? Thenphantasms came as on a flood. He was in a kind of euthanasy. The pain ofhis foot had ceased. He saw the Paradise by Sardis and its bendingfeathery palms; he heard the tinkling of the Lydian harps, and Roxanasinging of the magic Oxus, and the rose valleys of Eran. Next Roxanabecame Hermione. He was standing at her side on the knoll of Colonus, andwatching the sun sink behind Daphni making the Acropolis glow with redfire and gold. Yet all the time he knew he was going onward. He must notstop.
"For Hellas! For Hermione!"
At last even the vision of the Violet-Crowned City faded to mist. Had hereached the end,--the rest by the fields of Rhadamanthus, away from humanstrife? The night was ever darkening. He saw nothing, felt nothing,thought nothing save that he was still going onward, onward.
* * * * * * *
At some time betwixt midnight and dawning an Athenian outpost was pacinghis beat outside the lines of Aristeides. The allied Hellenes wereretiring from their position by the Asopus to a more convenient spot byPlataea, less exposed to the dreaded Persian cavalry, but on the nightmarch the contingents had become disordered. The Athenians were haltingunder arms,--awaiting orders from Pausanias the commander-in-chief. Theoutpost--Hippon, a worthy charcoal-burner of Archarnae--was creeping gingerlybehind the willow hedges, having a well-grounded fear of Tartar arrows.Presently his fox-keen ears caught footfalls from the road. His shieldwent up. He couched his spear. His eyes, sharpened by the long darkness,saw a man hardly running, nor walking, yet dragging one foot and leaningon a staff. Here was no Tartar, and Hippon sprang out boldly.
"Halt, stranger, tell your business."
"For Aristeides." The apparition seemed holding out something in his hand.
"That's not the watchword. Give it, or I must arrest you."
"For Aristeides."
"Zeus smite you, fellow, can't you speak Greek? What have you got for ourgeneral?"
"For Aristeides."
The stranger was hoarse as a crow. He was pushing aside the spear andforcing a packet into Hippon's hands. The latter, sorely puzzled, whistledthrough his fingers. A moment more the locharch of the scouting divisionand three comrades appeared.
"Why the alarm? Where's the enemy?"
"No enemy, but a madman. Find what he wants."
The locharch in earlier days had kept an oil booth in the Athens Agora andknew the local celebrities as well as Phormio.
"Now, friend," he spoke, "your business, and shortly; we've no time forchaffering."
"For Aristeides."
"The fourth time he's said it,--sheep!" cried Hippon, but as he spoke thenewcomer fell forward heavily, groaned once, and lay on the roadway silentas the dead. The locharch drew forth the horn lantern he had masked underhis chalmys and leaned over the stranger. The light fell on the seal ofthe packet gripped in the rigid fingers.
"Themistocles's seal," he cried, and hastily turned the fallen man's faceupward to the light, when the lantern almost dropped from his own hand.
"Glaucon the Alcmaeonid! Glaucon the Traitor who was dead! He or his shadecome back from Tartarus."
The four soldiers stood quaking like aspen, but their leader was ofstouter stuff. Never had his native Attic shrewdness guided him to morepurpose.
"Ghost, traitor, what not, this man has run himself all but to death. Lookon his face. And Themistocles does not send a courier for nothing. Thispacket is for Aristeides, and to Aristeides take it with speed."
Hippon seized the papyrus. He thought it would fade out of his hands likea spectre. It did not. The sentinel dropped his spear and ran breathlesstoward Plataea, where he knew was his general.
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